


What Dreams May Come

by Melanie_Athene



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, M/M, Post-Quest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-24 08:37:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4912654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melanie_Athene/pseuds/Melanie_Athene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In far off Tol Eressëa, Frodo still dreams of Bag End.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Dreams May Come

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Waymeet's "Perchance to Dream Challenge" (August 2007)

I had a dream the other night. I dreamed that I was walking down the East Road on a sunny summer day.

I felt the heat beating down upon my back as I slowly walked along the path that winds its way past fields of corn, through stands of silver poplars. I smelled the fecund scent of cows in pasture. The lazy buzz of insects sang a joyous refrain.

I paused beside The Water, cupped my hands and brought up a generous measure of the pristine liquid to splash upon my face; captured it a second time and drank deeply to quench my thirst. The taste was sweeter than the finest wine.

In the dappled shadows which danced along the riverbank, I slipped from my dust-covered trousers, eased my white shirt off my pale shoulders and kicked my under linens aside.

My body scarcely made a ripple as I entered into the welcoming depths, though my lips parted on a gasp at the sudden chill. Like an otter, my dark head bobbed to the surface, dove back down to study the pebbles lining the riverbed, surfaced to claim another breath of air.

When at last I tired of my play, I curled up on a bed of soft, green moss, my head pillowed on my arms. And I sank into a sleep that held no terror, no shadowed memories.

I had a dream within my dream...

I dreamed that I was going home again. Home to Bag End. Home to he who holds my heart...

My silent footsteps carried me slowly up The Row until I stood outside the gate where I had so often lingered: lost in dreams; looking down the road; wishing for adventure; missing Bilbo. But my gaze no longer followed that road. No... It turned to the beauty of the garden safe within the walls. My eyes caressed a familiar green door, traced the wisp of smoke that trickled from the kitchen chimney -- the wisp that, like a playfully crooked finger, beckoned me to come inside.

Quietly, I slipped through the gate. Felt a well-worn path beneath my feet, was enfolded in a rich profusion of colour, a proliferation of scent. Lavender, thyme, roses. Reds and pinks and blues. So many shades of blue...

I smiled.

My eyes closed as I let the peace, the enchantment of this place seep into my starved senses. Rich soil beneath my feet. Birdsong from every side in a harmony of sweet sound. And, sweeter still, I heard another song. I heard a sweeter voice. I heard my Sam.

My eyes shot open... and there he was. How had I missed seeing him? He was crouched down by a flowerbed, not a dozen paces from me. His face was turned from me, the homespun fabric of his shirt pulled taut across his back as he gently tended to his charges. A play of muscle rippled beneath the fabric as he moved and I shivered as if feeling the chill of The Water trickle down my spine on a blisteringly hot day.

A mud-streaked hand reached up to brush a tangle of wayward curls from his eyes. He rocked back upon his haunches, some second sense telling him that another presence shared his garden.

Slowly, his head turned...

Green-hazel eyes met my stare with no hint of surprise. A slow, delighted smile spread across his face.

“Frodo,” he said warmly. “Frodo, how I hoped that you would come back to me.”

Quick strides carried me across the gulf that lay between us. I dropped to my knees beside him, the damp earth saturating the knees of my britches. His hands framed my face... I mirrored the motion. For a moment, neither of us moved, not a breath passed through our lungs. We were as still as statues in the garden, the frozen image of lovers reunited after too many long years apart.

And then he whimpered and I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his... or did he press his lips to mine? It didn't matter. What mattered was that we were together again. His taste was on my tongue. His tears mingled with mine. We kissed and kissed... and, when his arms wrapped me close to his pounding heart, we kissed some more.

“Sam... Sam... Sam,” I chanted breathlessly, as his lips trailed down my neck to seek my breast.

“Sam, Sam,” I moaned as he laid me down in his flowerbed. The scent of bruised petals was all around us; our bodies crushed the poor flowers, sank deep into the loam...

But that wilful damage could be forgiven as our pleasure mounted. Clumsy with desire, we stripped clothing from one another until we lay naked together and our bodies discovered the nuance of a touch here... a stroke there... a thrust... a glide...

“Frodo?” Sam panted, his warm breath caressing my skin.

“I'm here, Sam,” I replied.

“Frodo... Frodo... Frodo...”

A galaxy of stars exploded in the sunlit sky as my release answered his.

“I love you,” I whispered joyfully. “I love you. I always will.”

But there was no reply. No flowers in my bed. No earth-stained hand prints on my flesh. No birds singing paeans of praise to our love. There was no Sam curled tight around me. I was alone. My dream was at an end.

The whimper started low down in my throat, rising in volume until it was an endless, keening wail. Too cruel... too cruel... I could not bear the pain...

“Nooooo,” I screamed, my throat raw and torn from the volume of the cry.

No warm arms. No hope. No love.

“No, no, no!” My fists beat against my mattress in despair and rage at the torment.

“No,” I cried.

“Wake up, Frodo,” a soft voice whispered in my ear. “Wake up, love.”

Gentle fingers wiped the tears from my face. Warm arms wrapped me in a sheltering embrace.

“I had a dream, Sam,” I whimpered. “I had a dream...”

“I know,” he said softly, gazing deep into my eyes. His face was also wet with tears. “I know, love. I've dreamed it too. I dreamed it every night that we were apart.”

Gentle hands stroked my hair back from my face.

“But we have no further need of dreams, do we?” he whispered. “We have today. We have the rest of our lives. What dream could compare with that?”

What dream, indeed? Eyes opened wide, I sank into his tender embrace, my lips seeking his, willingly lost to the sweet reality that was finally mine.


End file.
